The Sorceress's Niece
by Eliza Donelittle
Summary: This is a gender switched version of "The Magician's Nephew". Paul Plummer and Digma Kirke have an amazing adventure and are involved in the creation of Nernya.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Please note that this is a gender switched version of "The Magician's Nephew" which is the wonderful creation of C.S. Lewis and belongs to his estate. If you don't like the idea of gender switched classics, then this probably isn't for you._

Chapter One – The Wrong Door

This is a story about something that happened long ago when your grandmother was a child. It is a very important story because it shows how all the comings and goings between our own world and the land of Nernya first began.

In those long-ago days Miss Shirley Holmes was still living in Baker Street and the Bastables were looking for treasure in the Lewisham Road. In those days, if you were a girl you had to wear a woo pinafore and scratchy stockings every day, and schools were usually nastier than now. But meals were nicer; and sweets were much cheaper and larger than now. And in those days there lived in London a boy called Paul Plummer.

He lived in one of a long row of houses which were all joined together. One morning he was out in the back garden when a girl scrambled up from the garden next door and put her face over the wall. Paul was very surprised because up till now there had never been any children in that house, but only Miss Ketterley and Master Ketterley, a sister and brother, old maid and old spinner, living together. So he looked up, full of curiosity. The face of the strange girl was very grubby.

It could hardly have been grubbier if she had first rubbed her hands in the earth, and then had a good cry, and then dried her face with her hands. As a matter of fact, this was very nearly what she had been doing.

"Hullo," said Paul.

"Hullo," said the girl. "What's your name?"

"Paul," said Paul. "What's yours?"

"Digma," said the girl.

"I say, what a funny name!" said Paul.

"It isn't half so funny as Paul," said Digma.

"Yes it is," said Paul.

"No, it isn't," said Digma.

"At any rate I do wash my face," said Paul, "Which is what you need to do; especially after -" and then he stopped. He had been going to say, "After you've been blubbing," but he thought that wouldn't be polite.

"Alright, I have then," said Digma in a much louder voice, like a girl who was so miserable that she didn't care who knew she had been crying. "And so would you," she went on, "if you'd lived all your life in the country and had a pony, and a river and a boat, at the bottom of the garden, and then been brought to live in a beastly hole like this."

"London isn't a hole," said Paul indignantly. But the girl was too wound up to take any notice of him, and she went on "And if your mother was far away in India - and you had to come and live with an uncle and an aunt who's mad (who would like that?) - and if the reason was that they were looking after your father - and if your father was ill and was going to - going to - die." Then her face went the wrong sort of shape as it does if you're trying to keep back your tears.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry," said Paul humbly. And then, because he hardly knew what to say, and also to turn Digma's mind to more cheerful subjects, he asked, "Is Miss Ketterley really mad?"

"Well either she's mad," said Digma, "or there's some other mystery. She has a study on the top floor and Uncle Len says I must never go up there and disturb her. Well, that looks fishy to begin with. And then there's another thing. Whenever she tries to say anything to me at meal times - she never even tries to talk to him - he always shuts her up. He says, "Don't worry the girl, Andrea" or "I'm sure Digma doesn't want to hear about that" or else, "Now, Digma, run along and play in the garden."

"What sort of things does she try to say?"

"I don't know. She never gets far enough. But there's more than that. One night - it was last night in fact - as I was going past the foot of the attic-stairs on my way to bed (and I don't much care for going past them either) I'm sure I heard someone yell."

"Perhaps she keeps a mad husband shut up there like Mrs. Rochester in John Eyre."

"Yes, I've thought of that," said Digma. "Or she might have been a pirate, like the woman at the beginning of Treasure Island, and be always hiding from her old shipmates."

"How exciting!" said Paul, "I never knew your house was so interesting."

"You may think it interesting," said Digma. "But you wouldn't like it if you had to sleep there. How would you like to lie awake listening for Uncle Andrea's step to come creeping along the passage to your room? And she has such awful eyes and horrible fingers."

That was how Paul and Digma got to know one another: and as it was just the beginning of the summer holidays and neither of them was going to the seaside that year, they met nearly every day.

Their adventures began chiefly because it was one of the wettest and coldest summers there had been for years. That drove them to do indoor things such as indoor exploration. They found out how much exploring can be done with a stump of candle in a big house, or in a row of houses. Paul had discovered long ago that if you opened a certain little door in the box-room attic of his house you would find the cistern and a dark place behind it which you could get into by a little careful climbing. The dark place was like a long tunnel with brick wall on one side and sloping roof on the other. In the roof there were little chunks of light between the slates.

There was no floor in this tunnel: you had to step from rafter to rafter, and between them there was only plaster. If someone were to step on this she would find herself falling through the ceiling of the room below. Paul had used the bit of the tunnel just beside the cistern as a smugglers' cave.

He had brought up bits of old packing cases and the seats of broken kitchen chairs, and things of that sort, and spread them across from rafter to rafter so as to make a bit of floor. Here, he kept a red tin cash-box containing various treasures, and the manuscript of a story he was writing and usually a few apples. He had often drunk a quiet bottle of ginger-beer in there: the empty green bottles made it look more like a smugglers' cave. Digma quite liked the cave (he wouldn't let her see the story) but she was more interested in exploring.

"Look here," she said. "How long does this tunnel go on for? I mean, does it stop where your house ends?"

"No," said Paul. "The walls don't go out to the roof. It goes on. I don't know how far."

"Then we could get the length of the whole row of houses."

"So we could," said Paul, "And oh, I say!"

"What?"

"We could get into the other houses."

"Yes and get mistaken for burglars! No thanks."

"Don't be so jolly clever. I was thinking of the house beyond yours," said Paul.

"What about it?"

"Why, it's the empty one. Mummy says it's always been empty since we came here."

"I suppose we ought to have a look at it then," said Digma. She was a good deal more excited than you'd have thought from the way she spoke. For of course, she was thinking of all the reasons why the house might have been empty so long. So was Paul. Neither of them said the word "haunted". And both felt that once the thing had been suggested, it would be feeble not to do it.

"Shall we go and try it now?" said Digma.

"Alright," said Paul.

"Don't if you'd rather not," said Digma.

"I'm game if you are," said he.

"How are we to know we're in the next house but one?"

They decided they would have to go out into the box room and walk across it taking steps as long as the steps from one rafter to the next. That would give them an idea of how many rafters went to a room. Then they would allow about four more for the passage between the two attics in Paul's house, and then the same number for the manservant's bedroom as for the box-room. That would give them the length of the house. When they had done that distance twice they would be at the end of Digma's house; any door they came to after that would let them into an attic of the empty house.

"But I don't expect it's really empty at all," said Digma.

"What do you expect?"

"I expect someone lives there in secret, only coming in and out at night, with a dark lantern. We shall probably discover a gang of desperate criminals and get a reward. It's all rot to say a house would be empty all those years unless there was some mystery."

"Mummy thought it must be the drains or dry rot," said Paul.

"Pooh! Grown-ups are always thinking of uninteresting explanations," said Digma. Now that they were talking by daylight in the attic instead of by candlelight in the 'Smugglers' Cave', it seemed much less likely that the empty house would be haunted.

When they had measured the attic they had to get a pencil and do a sum. They both got different answers to it at first, and even when they agreed I am not sure they got it right. They were in a hurry to start on the exploration.

"We mustn't make a sound," said Paul as they climbed in again behind the cistern. Because it was such an important occasion they took a candle each (Paul had a good store of them in his cave).

It was very dark and dusty and draughty and they stepped from rafter to rafter without a word except when they whispered to one another, "We're opposite your attic now," or "this must be halfway through our house". And neither of them stumbled and the candles didn't go out, and at last they came where they could see a little door in the brick wall on their right. There was no bolt or handle on this side of it, of course, for the door had been made for getting in, not for getting out; but there was a catch (as there often is on the inside of a cupboard door) which they felt sure they would be able to turn.

"Shall I?" said Digma.

"I'm game if you are," said Paul, just as he had said before. Both felt that it was becoming very serious, but neither would draw back. Digma pushed round the catch with some difficulty.

The door swung open and the sudden daylight made them blink. Then, with a great shock, they saw that they were looking, not into a deserted attic, but into a furnished room. But it seemed empty. It was dead silent. Paul's curiosity got the better of him. He blew out his candle and stepped out into the strange room, making no more noise than a mouse.

It was shaped, of course, like an attic, but furnished as a sitting-room. Every bit of the walls was lined with shelves and every bit of the shelves was full of books. A fire was burning brightly in the grate and in front of the fire-place with its back towards them was a high-backed leather armchair. Between the chair and Paul, and filling most of the middle of the room, was a big table piled with all sorts of things; printed books, notebooks, ink bottles, pens, pencils, erasers, and stoppered bottles containing different coloured liquids – red, green and blue, and sealing-wax and a microscope.

But what he noticed first on the table was a black lacquered tray with any number of rings on it. They were in pairs - a yellow one and a green one together, then a little space, and then another yellow one and another green one. They were no bigger than ordinary rings, and no one could help noticing them because they were so bright. They were the most beautiful shiny little things you can imagine. If Paul had been a very little younger he would have wanted to put one in his mouth.

The room was so quiet that he noticed the ticking of the clock at once. And then he heard another noise as well. There was a faint - a very, very faint - humming sound.

If hoovers had been invented in those days Paul would have thought it was the sound of a hoover being worked a long way off - several rooms away and several floors below. But it was a nicer sound than that, a more musical tone: only so faint that he could hardly hear it.

"It's alright; there's no one here," said Paul over his shoulder to Digma. He didn't bother to whisper. Digma came out, blinking and looking extremely dirty - as indeed Paul was too.

"This is bad," she said. "It's not an empty house at all. We'd better bunk before anyone comes."

"What do you think those are?" said Paul, pointing at the coloured rings.'

"Oh come on," said Digma. "The sooner-"

She never finished what she was going to say for at that moment something happened. The high-backed chair in front of the fire moved suddenly and there rose up out of it - like a pantomime villain coming up out of a trapdoor, the alarming form of Aunt Andrea. They were not in the empty house at all; they were in Digma's house and in the forbidden study! Both children said "O-o-oh" and realized their terrible mistake. They felt they ought to have known all along that they hadn't gone nearly far enough.

Aunt Andrea was tall and very thin. She had a long face with a sharply-pointed nose and extremely bright eyes and a great tousled mop of grey hair.

Digma was quite speechless, for Aunt Andrea looked a thousand times more alarming than he had ever looked before. Paul was not so frightened yet; but she soon was. For the very first thing Aunt Andrea did was to walk across to the door of the room, shut it, and turn the key in the lock. Then she turned around, fixed the children with her bright eyes, and smiled, showing all her slightly yellow teeth.

"There!" he said. "Now my fool of a brother can't get at you!"

It was so dreadfully unlike anything a grown-up would be expected to do. Paul's heart came into his mouth, and he and Digma started backing towards the little door they had come in by. Aunt Andrea was too quick for them. She got behind them and shut that door too and stood in front of it.

Then she rubbed her hands and made her knuckles crack. She had very long, beautifully white, fingers.

"I am delighted to see you," she said. "Two children are just what I wanted."

This scared the children even more.

"Please, Miss Ketterley, it's nearly my dinner time and I've got to go home. Will you let us out, please?" Paul pleaded.

"Not just yet," said Aunt Andrea. "This is too good an opportunity to miss. I wanted two children. You see, I'm in the middle of a great experiment. I've tried it on a guinea-pig and it seemed to work. But then a guinea-pig can't tell you anything. And you can't explain to it how to come back."

"Look here, Aunt Andrea," said Digma, "it really is dinner time and they'll be looking for us in a moment. You must let us out."

"Must?" asked Aunt Andrea in an unpleasant tone.

Digma and Paul glanced at one another. They dared not say anything, but the glances meant "Isn't this dreadful?" and "We must humour her."

"If you let us go for our dinner now," said Paul, "we could come back to see you after dinner."

"Ah, but how do I know that you would?" said Aunt Andrea with a cunning smile. Then she seemed to change her mind. She stopped smiling and her mouth drooped. "Well, well," she said, "if you really must go, I suppose you must. I can't expect two youngsters like you to find it much fun talking to an old buffer like me." She sighed and went on. "You've no idea how lonely I sometimes am. I have so few visitors. But no matter. Go have your dinner. But I must give you a small present before you go. It's not every day that I see a little boy in my drab old study; especially, if I may say so, such a very attractive young gentleman as yourself."

Paul began to think she might not really be mad after all. She was certainly very perceptive.

"Wouldn't you like a ring, my dear?" Aunt Andrea asked Paul.

"Do you mean one of those yellow or green ones?" questioned Paul. "How nice of you!"

"Not a green one," said Aunt Andrea. "I'm afraid I can't give the green ones away. But I'd be delighted to give you any of the yellow ones: with my compliments. Here, come and try one on."

Paul had now quite got over his fright and felt sure that the old lady was not mad; and there was certainly something oddly attractive about those shiny rings. He moved over to the tray.

"Why! I declare," he said. "That humming noise is much louder here. It's almost as if the rings were making it."

"What a droll fancy, my dear," said Aunt Andrea with a laugh. It sounded good-natured, but Digma had seen an eager, almost a greedy, look on her face.

"Paul! Don't be an idiot!" she shouted. "Don't touch them."

It was too late. Exactly as she spoke, Paul's hand went out to touch one of the yellow rings. And immediately, without a flash or a noise or a warning of any sort, there was no Paul. He had vanished. Digma and her aunt were alone in the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Digma And Her Aunt

It was so sudden, and so horribly unlike anything that had ever happened to Digma even in a nightmare, that she let out a scream. Instantly Aunt Andrea's hand was over her mouth. "None of that!" she hissed in Digma's ear. "If you start making a noise your father'll hear it. And you know what a fright might do to him."

As Digma said afterwards, the horrible meanness of getting at a girl in that way, almost made her sick. But of course she didn't scream again.

"That's better," said Aunt Andrea. "Perhaps you couldn't help it. It is a shock when you first see someone vanish. Why, it gave even me a turn when the guinea-pig did it the other night."

"Was that when you yelled?" asked Digma.

"Oh, you heard that, did you? I hope you haven't been spying on me?"

"No, I haven't," said Digma indignantly. "But what's happened to Paul?"

"Congratulate me, my dear girl," said Aunt Andrea, rubbing her hands. "My experiment has succeeded. The little boy's gone - vanished - right out of the world."

"What have you done to him?"

"Sent him to - well - to another place."

"What do you mean?" asked Digma.

Aunt Andrea sat down and said, "Well, I'll tell you all about it. Have you ever heard of old Mr. Lefay?"

"Wasn't he a great-uncle or something?" said Digma.

"Not exactly," said Aunt Andrea. "He was my godfather. That's him, there, on the wall."

Digma looked and saw a faded photograph: it showed the face of an old man in a wide-brimmed hat. And she could now remember that she had once seen a photo of the same face in an old drawer, at home, in the country. She had asked her father who it was and Father had not seemed to want to talk about the subject much. It was not at all a nice face, Digma thought, though of course with those early photographs one could never really tell.

"Was there - wasn't there - something wrong about him, Aunt Andrea?" she asked.

"Well," said Aunt Andrea with a chuckle, "it depends what you call wrong. People are so narrow-minded. He certainly got very queer in later life. Did very unwise things. That was why they shut him up."

"In an asylum, do you mean?"

"Oh no, no, no," said Aunt Andrea in a shocked voice. "Nothing of that sort. Only in prison."

"I say!" said Digma. "What had he done?"

"Ah, poor man," said Aunt Andrea. "He had been very unwise. There were a good many different things. We needn't go into all that. He was always very kind to me."

"But look here, what has all this got to do with Paul? I do wish you'd -"

"All in good time, my girl," said Aunt Andrea. "They let old Mr. Lefay out before he died and I was one of the very few people whom he would allow to see him in his last illness. He had got to dislike ordinary, ignorant people, you understand. I do myself. But he and I were interested in the same sort of things. It was only a few days before his death that he told me to go to an old bureau in his house and open a secret drawer and bring him a little wooden box that I would find there.

The moment I picked up that box I could tell by the pricking in my fingers that I held some great secret in my hands. He gave it me and made me promise that as soon as he was dead I would burn it, unopened, with certain ceremonies. That promise I did not keep."

"Well, then, it was jolly rotten of you," said Digma.

"Rotten?" said Aunt Andrea with a puzzled look. "Oh, I see. You mean that little girls ought to keep their promises. Very true: most right and proper, I'm sure, and I'm very glad you have been taught to do it. But of course you must understand that rules of that sort, however excellent they may be for little girls - and servants - and men - and even people in general, can't possibly be expected to apply to profound students and great thinkers and sages. No, Digma. Women like me, who possess hidden wisdom, are freed from common rules just as we are cut off from common pleasures. Ours, my girl, is a high and lonely destiny."

As she said this she sighed and looked so grave and noble and mysterious that for a second Digma really thought she was saying something rather fine. But then she remembered the ugly look she had seen on her aunt's face the moment before Paul had vanished: and all at once she saw through Aunt Andrea's eloquent words. "All it means," she said to herself, "Is that she thinks she can do anything she likes to get anything she wants."

"Of course," said Aunt Andrea, "I didn't dare to open the box for a long time, for I knew it might contain something highly dangerous. For my godfather was a very remarkable man. The truth is, he was one of the last mortals in this country who had fairy blood in him. (He said there had been two others in his time. One was a duke and the other was a charman.) In fact, Digma, you are now talking to the last woman (possibly) who really had a fairy godfather. There! That'll be something for you to remember when you are an old woman yourself."

"I bet he was a bad fairy," thought Digma; and added out loud. "But what about Paul?"

"How you do harp on that!" said Aunt Andrea. "As if that was what mattered! My first task was of course to study the box itself. It was very ancient. And I knew enough even then to know that it wasn't Greek, or Old Egyptian, or Harappan, or Mesopotamian, or Mayan. It was older than any of those nations. Ah - that was a great day when I at last found out the truth. The box was Atlantean; it came from the lost island of Atlantis. That meant it was centuries older than any of the stone-age things they dig up in Europe. And it wasn't a rough, crude thing like them either.

For in the very dawn of time Atlantis was already a great city with palaces and temples and learned women."

She paused for a moment as if she expected Digma to say something. But Digma was disliking her aunt more every minute, so she said nothing.

"Meanwhile," continued Aunt Andrea, "I was learning a good deal in other ways (it wouldn't be proper to explain them to a child) about magic in general. That meant that I came to have a fair idea what sort of things might be in the box. By various tests I narrowed down the possibilities.

I had to get to know some - well, some devilish strange people, and go through some very unpleasant experiences. That was what turned my head grey. One doesn't become a sorceress without work and sacrifice. My health broke down in the end. But I got better. And at last I actually knew."

Although there was not really the least chance of anyone overhearing them, she leaned forward and almost whispered as she said, "The Atlantean box contained something that had been brought from another world when our world was only just beginning."

"What?" asked Digma, who was now interested in spite of herself.

"Only dust," said Aunt Andrea. "Fine, dry dust. Nothing much to look at. Not much to show for a lifetime of toil, you might say. Ah, but when I looked at that dust (I took jolly good care not to touch it) and thought that every grain had once been in another world - I don't mean another planet, you know; they're part of our world and you could get to them if you went far enough - but a really Other World - another nature, another universe - somewhere you would never reach even if you travelled through the space of this universe for ever and ever - a world that could be reached only by magic - well!" Here Aunt Andrea made her knuckles crack like fireworks.

"I knew," she went on, "that if only you could get it into the right form, that dust would draw you back to the place it had come from. But the difficulty was to get it into the right form. My earlier experiments were all failures. I tried them on guinea-pigs. Some of them only died. Some exploded like little bombs -"

"It was an awfully cruel thing to do," said Digma who had once had a guinea-pig of her own.

"How you do keep getting off the point!" said Aunt Andrea. "That's what the creatures were for. I'd bought them myself. Let me see - where was I? Ah yes. At last I succeeded in making the rings: the yellow rings. But now a new difficulty arose. I was pretty sure, now, that a yellow ring would send any creature that touched it into the Other Place. But what would be the good of that if I couldn't get them back to tell me what they had found there?"

"And what about them?" said Digma. "A nice mess they'd be in if they couldn't get back!"

"You will keep on looking at everything from the wrong point of view," said Aunt Andrea with a look of impatience. "Can't you understand that the thing is a great experiment? The whole point of sending anyone into the Other Place is that I want to find out what it's like."

"Well, why didn't you go yourself then?"

Digma had hardly ever seen anyone so surprised and offended as her aunt did at this simple question. "Me? Me?" she exclaimed. "The girl must be mad! A woman at my time of life, and in my state of health, to risk the shock and the dangers of being flung suddenly into a different universe? I never heard anything so preposterous in my life! Do you realize what you're saying? Think what another world means - you might meet anything, anything."

"And I suppose you've sent Paul into it then," said Digma. Her cheeks flamed red with anger. "And all I can say," she added, "even if you are my aunt - is that you've behaved like a coward, sending a boy to a place you're afraid to go to yourself."

"Silence, madam!" said Aunt Andrea, bringing her hand down on the table. "I will not be talked to like that by a little, dirty, schoolgirl. You don't understand. I am the great scholar, the sorceress, the adept, who is doing the experiment. Of course I need subjects to do it on. Bless my soul, you'll be telling me next that I ought to have asked the guinea-pigs' permission before I used them! No great wisdom can be reached without sacrifice. But the idea of my going myself is ridiculous. It's like asking a general to fight as a common soldier. Supposing I got killed, what would become of my life's work?"

"Oh, do stop jawing," said Digma. "Are you going to bring Paul back?"

"I was going to tell you, when you so rudely interrupted me," said Aunt Andrea, "that I did at last find out a way of doing the return journey. The green rings draw you back."

"But Paul hasn't got a green ring."

"No," said Aunt Andrea with a cruel smile.

"Then he can't get back," shouted Digma. "And it's exactly the same as if you'd murdered him.

"He can get back," said Aunt Andrea, "if someone else will go after him, wearing a yellow ring herself and taking two green rings, one to bring herself back and one to bring him back."

And now of course Digma saw the trap in which she was caught: and she stared at Aunt Andrea, saying nothing, with her mouth wide open. Her cheeks had gone very pale.

"I hope," said Aunt Andrea presently in a very high and mighty voice, just as if she were a perfect aunt who had given one a handsome tip and some good advice, "I hope, Digma, you are not given to showing the white feather. I should be very sorry to think that anyone of our family had not enough honour and chivalry to go to the aid of - er - a gentleman in distress."

"Oh shut up!" said Digma. "If you had any honour and all that, you'd be going yourself. But I know you won't. Alright. I see I've got to go. But you are a beast. I suppose you planned the whole thing, so that he'd go without knowing it and then I'd have to go after him."

"Of course," said Aunt Andrea with her hateful smile.

"Very well. I'll go. But there's one thing I jolly well mean to say first. I didn't believe in magic till today. I see now it's real. Well if it is, I suppose all the old fairy tales are more or less true. And you're simply a wicked, cruel sorceress like the ones in the stories. Well, I've never read a story in which people of that sort didn't get their come-uppance in the end, and I bet you will too. And serve you right."

Of all the things Digma had said this was the first that really went home. Aunt Andrea started and there came over her face a look of such horror that, horrible though she was, Digma could almost feel sorry for him. But a second later she smoothed it all away and said with a rather forced laugh, "Well, well, I suppose that is a natural thing for a child to think - brought up among men, as you have been. Old husbands' tales, eh? I don't think you need worry about my danger, Digma. Wouldn't it be better to worry about the danger of your little friend? He's been gone some time. If there are any dangers over there - well, it would be a pity to arrive a moment too late."

"A lot you care," said Digma fiercely. "But I'm sick of this jaw. What have I got to do?"

"You really must learn to control that temper of yours, my girl," said Aunt Andrea coolly. "Otherwise you'll grow up like your Uncle Len. Now. Attend to me."

She got up, put on a pair of white cotton gloves, and walked over to the tray that contained the rings.

"They only work," she said, "if they're actually touching your skin. Wearing gloves, I can pick them up - like this - and nothing happens. If you carried one in your pocket nothing would happen: but of course you'd have to be careful not to put your hand in your pocket and touch it by accident. The moment you touch a yellow ring, you vanish out of this world. When you are in the Other Place I expect - of course this hasn't been tested yet, but I expect - that the moment you touch a green ring you vanish out of that world and - I expect - reappear in this. Now. I take these two greens and drop them into your right-hand pocket. Remember very carefully which pocket the greens are in. G for green and R for right. G.R. you see: which are the first two letters of green. One for you and one for the little boy. And now you pick up a yellow one for yourself. I should put it on your finger - if I were you. There'll be less chance of dropping it." Then she added carelessly, "Oh, and you might bring back my guinea-pig if you find it."

Digma had almost picked up the yellow ring when she suddenly checked herself.

"Look here," she said. "What about Father? Supposing he asks where I am?"

"The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back," said Aunt Andrea cheerfully.

"But you don't really know whether I can get back."

Aunt Andrea shrugged her shoulders, walked across to the door, unlocked it, threw it open, and said, "Oh very well then. Just as you please. Go down and have your dinner. Leave the little boy to be eaten by wild animals or drowned or starved in the other world or lost there for good, if that's what you prefer. It's all one to me. Perhaps before tea time you'd better drop in on Mr. Plummer and explain that he'll never see his son again; because you were afraid to put on a ring."

"Just like you! By Juno," said Digma, "don't I just wish I was big enough to punch your head!"

Then she buttoned up her waistcoat, took a deep breath, and picked up the ring. And she thought then, as she always thought afterwards too, that she could not decently have done anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three - The Wood Between The Worlds

Aunt Andrea and her study vanished instantly. Then, for a moment, everything became muddled. The next thing Digma knew was that there was a soft green light falling on her from above, and darkness below. She didn't seem to be standing on anything. There was nothing around her. She didn't seem to be standing on anything. There was nothing touching her.

"I believe I'm under water," said Digma. But she got no water in her mouth when she said this.

This frightened her for a second, but almost at once she could feel that she was rushing upwards. Then her head suddenly popped out into the air and she found herself scrambling ashore, out on to grassy ground at the edge of a pool.

As she rose to her feet she noticed that she was neither dripping nor panting for breath as anyone would expect after being under water. Her clothes were perfectly dry. She was standing by the edge of a small pool - not more than ten feet from side to side in a wood. The trees grew close together so she could get no glimpse of the sky through the foliage. All the light was green light that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm.

It was the quietest wood she had ever been in. There were no birds, no insects, no animals, and no wind. She could almost feel the trees growing. The pool she had just got out of was not the only pool. There were dozens of others - a pool every few yards as far as her eyes could reach. She could almost feel the trees drinking the water up with their roots. This wood was very much alive. When she tried to describe it afterwards Digma always said, "It was a rich place: as rich as plum pudding."

The strangest thing was that, almost before she had looked about her, Digma had half forgotten how she had come there. At any rate, she was certainly not thinking about Paul, or Aunt Andrea, or even her father. She was not in the least frightened, or excited, or curious. If anyone had asked her, "Where did you come from?" she would probably have said, "But I've always been here."

That was what it felt like - as if she had always been in that place and never been bored although nothing had ever happened. As she said long afterwards, "It's not the sort of place where things happen. The trees go on growing, that's all."

After Digma had looked at the wood for a long time, she noticed that there was a boy lying on his back at the foot of an oak tree a few yards away. His eyes were nearly shut but not quite, as if he were just between sleeping and waking. She studied him and said nothing. And at last he opened his eyes and said nothing but gazed at her for a while. Then he spoke, in a dreamy, contented sort of voice.

"I think I've seen you before," he said.

"I rather think so too," said Digma. "Have you been here long?"

"Oh, always," said the boy. "At least - I don't know, a very long time."

"So have I," said Digma.

"No you haven't, said he. "I've just seen you come up out of that pool."

"Yes, I suppose I did," said Digma with a puzzled air, "I'd forgotten."

Then for quite a long time neither said any more.

"Look here," said the boy presently, "I wonder did we ever really meet before? I had a sort of idea - a sort of picture in my head - of a a girl and a boy, like us - living somewhere quite different - and doing all sorts of things. Perhaps it was only a dream."

"I've had that same dream, I think," said Digma. "About a girl and a boy, living next door - and something about crawling among rafters. I remember the boy had a dirty face."

"Aren't you getting it mixed? In my dream it was the girl who had the dirty face."

"I can't remember the girl's face," said Digma: and then added, "Hullo! What's that?"

"Why! it's a guinea-pig," said the boy. And it was - a fat brown and white guinea-pig, nosing about in the grass.

But round the middle of the guinea-pig there ran a narrow blue tape, and, tied on to it by the tape, was a bright yellow ring.

"Look! look," cried Digma, "The yellow ring! And look! You've got one just like it on your finger. And so have I."

The boy now sat up, really interested at last. They stared very hard at one another, trying to remember. And then, at exactly the same moment, he shouted out, "Miss Ketterley" and she yelled, "Aunt Andrea", and they knew who they were and began to remember the whole story. After a few minutes' hard talking they had got it straight. Digma explained how beastly Aunt Andrea had been.

Digma went up to the guinea pig, picked it up and cradling it, stroked its soft fur.

"What do we do now?" said Paul. "Take the guinea pig and go home?"

"There's no hurry," said Digma with a huge yawn.

"I think there is," said Paul. "This place is too quiet. It's so - so drowsy. You're almost asleep. If we once give in to it we shall just lie down and dream for ever and ever."

"It's very nice here," said Digma.

"Yes, it is," said Paul. "But we've got to get back. We might as well leave the guinea-pig," he said. "It's perfectly happy here, and your aunt will only do something horrid to it if we take it home."

"I bet she would," answered Digma. "Look at the way she's treated us. She wanted me to bring it back but I shan't." She put the guinea-pig down and it wandered away. "By the way, how do we get home?"

"Go back into the pool, I expect."

They came and stood together at the edge looking down into the smooth water. It was full of the reflection of the green, leafy branches; they made it look very deep.

"We haven't any bathing things," said Paul.

"We shan't need them, silly," said Digma. "We're going in with our clothes on. Don't you remember we didn't get wet?"

"Can you swim?"

"A bit. Can you?"

"Well - not much."

"I don't think we shall need to swim," said Digma "We want to go down, don't we?"

Neither of them much liked the idea of jumping into that pool, but neither said so to the other.

They took hands and said "One - Two - Three - Go" and jumped. There was a great splash and of course they closed their eyes. But when they opened them again they found they were still standing, hand in hand, in the green wood, and hardly up to their ankles in water. The pool was apparently only a couple of inches deep. They splashed back on to the dry ground.

"What on earth's gone wrong?" asked Paul. He felt he should be alarmed but was hard to feel really frightened in that wood. The place was too peaceful.

"Oh! I know," said Digma, "Of course it won't work. We're still wearing our yellow rings. They're for the outward journey, you know. The green ones take you home. We must change rings. Have you got pockets? Good. Put your yellow ring in your left. I've got two greens. Here's one for you."

They put on their green rings and came back to the pool. But before they tried another jump Digma exclaimed, "O-ooh!"

"What's the matter?" asked Paul.

"I've just had a really wonderful idea," said Digma. "What about all the other pools?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if we can get back to our own world by jumping into this pool, mightn't we get somewhere else by jumping into one of the others? Suppose there was a world at the bottom of every pool?"

"But I thought we were already in your Aunt Andrea's "other world or "other place" or whatever she called it. Didn't you say -"

"Oh bother Aunt Andrea," Digma interrupted. "I don't believe she knows anything about it. She never had the pluck to come here herself. She only talked of one "other world." But suppose there were dozens?"

"You mean, this wood might be only one of them?"

"No, I don't believe this wood is a world at all. I think it's just a sort of in-between place."

Paul looked puzzled.

"Don't you see?" asked Digma. "No, do listen. Think of our tunnel under the slates at home. It isn't a room in any of the houses. In a way, it isn't really part of any of the houses. But once you're in the tunnel you can go along it and come into any of the houses in the row. Mightn't this wood be the same? - a place that isn't in any of the worlds, but once you've found that place you can get into them all."

"Well, even if you can -" began Paul, but Digma went on as if she hadn't heard him.

"And of course that explains everything," she said. "That's why it is so quiet and sleepy here. Nothing ever happens here. Like at home. It's in the houses that people talk, and do things, and have meals. Nothing goes on in the in-between places, behind the walls and above the ceilings and under the floor, or in our own tunnel. But when you come out of our tunnel you may find yourself in any house. I think we can get out of this place into jolly well anywhere! We don't need to jump back into the same pool we came up by. Or not just yet."

"The Wood between the Worlds," said Paul dreamily. "It sounds rather nice."

"Come on," said Digma. "Which pool shall we try?"

"Look here," said Paul, "I'm not going to try any new pool till we've made sure that we can get back by the old one. We're not even sure if it'll work yet."

"Yes," said Digma. "And get caught by Aunt Andrea and have our rings taken away before we've had any fun. No thanks."

"Couldn't we just go part of the way down into our own pool?" asked Paul. "Just to see if it works. Then if it does, we'll change rings and come up again before we're really back in Miss Ketterley's study."

"Can we go part of the way down?"

"Well, it took time coming up. I suppose it'll take a little time going back."

Digma made rather a fuss about agreeing to this, but she had to in the end because Paul absolutely refused to do any exploring in new worlds until he had made sure about getting back to the old one. He was quite as brave as she about some dangers (wasps, for instance) but he was not so interested in finding out things nobody had ever heard of before. Digma was the sort of person who wants to know everything, and when she grew up she became the famous Professor Kirke who comes into other books.

After a good deal of arguing they agreed to put on their green rings ("Green for safety," said Digma, "so you can't help remembering which is which") and hold hands and jump. But as soon as they seemed to be getting back to Aunt Andrea's study, or even to their own world, Paul was to shout "Change" and they would slip off their greens and put on their yellows. Digma wanted to be the one who shouted "Change" but Paul wouldn't agree.

They put on the green rings, took hands, and once more shouted "One -Two - Three - Go". This time it worked. At first there were bright lights moving about in a black sky; Digma always thought these were stars and even swore that she saw the great globe of Jupiter quite close -close enough to see its rings. But almost at once they could see the Tower and Big Ben and there were rows and rows of roofs and chimney pots about them. They knew they were looking at London. But you could see through the walls of all the houses. Then they could see Aunt Andrea, very vague and shadowy, but getting clearer and more solid-looking all the time, just as if she were coming into focus. But before she became quite real, Paul shouted "Change", and they changed rings.

Their world faded away like a dream, and the green light above shone stronger and stronger, till their heads came out of the pool and they scrambled ashore. And there was the wood all about them, as green and still as ever. The whole thing had taken less than a minute.

"There!" said Digma. "That's alright. Now for the adventure. Any pool will do. Come on. Let's try that one."

"Stop!" said Paul- "Aren't we going to mark this pool?"

They stared at each other and turned quite white as they realized the dreadful thing that Digma had just been going to do. For there were any number of pools in the wood, and the pools were all alike and the trees were all alike, so that if they had once left behind the pool that led to their own world without making some sort of landmark, the chances would have been a hundred to one against their ever finding it again.

Digma's hand shook as she opened her penknife and cut out a long strip of turf on the bank of the pool. The soil (which smelled nice) was of a rich reddish brown and showed up well against the green.

"It's a good thing one of us has some sense," said Paul.

"Well don't keep on gassing about it," snapped Digma. "Come along, I want to see what's in one of the other pools."

"I like that! You ungrateful girl. I've just saved us from never getting home again," retorted Paul.

"You don't have to swank about it. Just like a stuck-up boy!"

The quarrel lasted for several minutes but they made it up in the end. Digma even magnanimously allowed Paul to pick the pool. Then they stood with beating hearts and rather scared faces on the edge of the unknown pool with their yellow rings on and held hands and once more said "One - Two - Three - Go!"

Splash! Once again it hadn't worked. This pool, too, seemed to be only a large puddle. Instead of reaching a new world they only got their feet wet and water splashed their legs for the second time that morning.

"Blast and botheration!" exclaimed Digma. "What's gone wrong now? We've put our yellow rings on all right. She said yellow for the outward journey."

Now the truth was that Aunt Andrea, who knew nothing about the Wood between the Worlds, had quite a wrong idea about the rings. The yellow ones weren't "outward" rings and the green ones weren't "homeward" rings; at least, not in the way she thought.

The stuff of which both were made had all come from the wood. The stuff in the yellow rings had the power of drawing them into the wood; it was stuff that wanted to get back to its own place, the in-between place. But the stuff in the green rings was stuff that was trying to get out of its own place: so that a green ring would take them out of the wood into a world.

Aunt Andrea, was working with things she did not really understand; most sorceresses are. Of course Digma did not realize the truth quite clearly either, or not till later. But when they had talked it over, they decided to try their green rings on the new pool, just to see what happened.

"I'm game if you are," said Paul.

But he really said this because, in his heart of hearts, he now felt sure that neither kind of ring was going to work at all in the new pool, and so there was nothing worse to be afraid of than another splash. Digma had the same feeling. At any rate, when they had both put on their greens and come back to the edge of the water, and taken hands again, they were certainly a good deal more cheerful and less solemn than they had been the first time.

"One - Two - Three - Go!" shouted Digma. And they jumped.


	4. Chapter 4 The Hammer and the Bell

Chapter Four - The Bell And The Hammer

There was no doubt about the magic this time. Down and down they rushed, first through darkness and then through a mass of vague and whirling shapes which might have been almost anything. It grew lighter. Then suddenly they felt that they were standing on something solid. A moment later everything came into focus and they were able to look about them.

"What a strange place!" said Digma.

"I don't like it," said Paul with something like a shudder.

What they noticed first was the light. It wasn't like sunlight, and it wasn't like electric light, or lamps, or candles, or any other light they had ever seen. It was a dull, rather red light, not at all cheerful. It was steady and did not flicker. They were standing on a flat paved surface and stone buildings rose all around them. There was no roof overhead; they were in a sort of courtyard. The sky was extraordinarily dark - a blue that was almost black. It was a wonder that there should be any light at all.

"It's very funny weather here," said Digma. "I wonder if we've arrived just in time for a thunderstorm; or an eclipse."

"I still don't like it," said Paul.

Both of them, without quite knowing why, were talking in whispers. And though there was no reason why they should still go on holding hands after their jump, they didn't let go.

The walls rose very high all round that courtyard. They had many great windows in them, windows without glass, through which you saw nothing but black darkness. Lower down there were great pillared arches, yawning blackly like the mouths of railway tunnels. It was rather cold.

The stone of which everything was built seemed to be red, but that might only be because of the curious crimson light. It was obviously very old. Many of the flat stones that paved the courtyard had cracks across them. None of them fitted closely together and the sharp corners were all worn off.

One of the arched doorways was half filled up with rubble. The two children kept on turning round and round to look at the different sides of the courtyard. One reason was that they were afraid of somebody - or something - looking out of those windows at them when their backs were turned.

"Do you think anyone lives here?" asked Digma at last, still in a whisper.

"No," said Paul. "It's all in ruins. We haven't heard a sound since we came."

"Let's stand still and listen for a bit," Digma suggested.

They stood still and listened, but all they could hear was the thump-thump of their own hearts.

This place was at least as quiet as the Wood between the Worlds. But it was a different kind of quietness. The silence of the Wood had been rich and warm (they could almost hear the trees growing) and full of life: this was a dead, cold, empty silence. They couldn't imagine anything growing in it.

"Let's go home," said Paul.

"But we haven't seen anything yet," Digma pointed out. "Now we're here, we simply must have a look round."

"I'm sure there's nothing at all interesting here."

"There's not much point in finding a magic ring that lets you into other worlds if you're afraid to look at them when you've got there."

"Who's talking about being afraid?" asked Paul, letting go of Digma's hand.

"I only thought you didn't seem very keen on exploring this place."

"I'll go anywhere you go."

"We can get away the moment we want to," Digma said. "Let's take off our green rings and put them in our right-hand pockets. All we've got to do is to remember that our yellow are in our left-hand pockets. You can keep your hand as near your pocket as you like, but don't put it in or you'll touch your yellow and vanish."

They did this and went quietly up to one of the big arched doorways which led into the inside of the building. And when they stood on the threshold and could look in, they saw it was not so dark inside as they had thought at first. It led into a vast, shadowy hall which appeared to be empty; but on the far side there was a row of pillars with arches between them and through those arches there streamed in some more of the same tired-looking light. They crossed the hall, walking very carefully for fear of holes in the floor or of anything lying about that they might trip over. It seemed a long walk. When they had reached the other side they came out through the arches and found themselves in another and larger courtyard.

"That doesn't look very safe," said Paul, pointing at a place where the wall bulged outward and looked as if it were ready to fall over into the courtyard. In one place a pillar was missing between two arches and the bit that came down to where the top of the pillar ought to have been hung there with nothing to support it. Clearly, the place had been deserted for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years.

"If it's lasted till now, I suppose it'll last a bit longer," said Digma. "But we must be very quiet. You know a noise sometimes brings things down - like an avalanche in the Alps."

They went on out of that courtyard into another doorway, and up a great flight of steps and through vast chambers that opened out of one another till you were dizzy with the mere size of the place. Every now and then they thought they were going to get out into the open and see what sort of country lay around the enormous palace. But each time they only got into another courtyard.

They must have been magnificent places when people were still living there. In one there had once been a fountain. A great stone monster with a fish's tail and wide-spread wings, stood with its mouth open and you could still see a bit of piping at the back of its mouth, out of which the water used to pour.

Under it was a wide stone basin to hold the water; but it was as dry as a bone. In other places there were the dry sticks of some sort of climbing plant which had wound itself round the pillars and helped to pull some of them down. But it had died long ago. And there were no ants or spiders or cockroaches or any of the other living things you expect to see in a ruin; and where the brown, dry earth showed between the broken flagstones there was no grass or moss.

It was all so dreary and all so much the same that even Digma was thinking they had better put on their yellow rings and get back to the warm, green, living forest of the In-Between Place, when they came to two huge doors of some corroded metal that might possibly be gold. One stood a little ajar. So of course they went to look in. Both started back and drew a long breath: for here at last was something worth seeing.

For a second they thought the room was full of people - hundreds of people, all seated, and all perfectly still. Each sat on a stone chair, ornately carved. Paul and Digma, stood perfectly still themselves for a good long time, looking in. But presently they decided that what they were looking at could not be real people. There was not a movement nor the sound of a breath among them all. They were like the most wonderful waxworks.

This time Paul took the lead. There was something in this room which interested him more than it interested Digma: all the figures were wearing magnificent clothes. And the blaze of their colours made this room look, not exactly cheerful, but at any rate rich and majestic after all the dust and emptiness of the others. It had more windows, too, and was a good deal lighter.

The figures were all robed and had golden crowns on their heads. Their robes were of crimson and silvery grey and deep purple and vivid green: and there were patterns, and pictures of flowers and strange beasts, in needlework all over them. Precious stones of astonishing size and brightness stared from their crowns and hung in golden chains round their necks and peeped out from all the places where anything was fastened.

"Why haven't these clothes all rotted away long ago?" asked Paul.

"Magic," Digma whispered. "Can't you feel it? I bet this whole room is just stiff with enchantments. I could feel it the moment we came in."

"Any one of these dresses would cost hundreds of pounds," said Paul.

But Digma was more interested in the faces, and indeed these were well worth looking at. The people sat in their stone chairs on each side of the room and the floor was left free down the middle. They began to walk down the grey marble floor and look at the faces in turn.

"They were nice people, I think," said Digma.

Paul nodded. All the faces they could see were certainly nice. Both the men and women looked kind and wise, and they seemed to come of a handsome race. But after the children had gone a few steps down the room they came to faces that looked a little different. These were very solemn faces. They felt they would have to mind your P's and Q's, if they ever met living people who looked like that.

When they had gone a little further, they found themselves among faces they didn't like: this was about the middle of the room. The faces here looked very strong and proud and happy, but they looked cruel. A little further on they looked more cruel. Further on again, they were still cruel but they no longer looked happy. They were even despairing faces: as if the people they belonged to had done dreadful things and also suffered dreadful things.

The last figure of all was the most interesting - a man even more richly dressed than the others with even bigger and more beautiful jewels, very tall (but every figure in that room was taller than the people of their world), with a look of such fierceness and pride that it took your breath away. Yet he was beautiful too. Years afterwards when she was an old woman, Digma said she had never in all her life known a man so beautiful. It is only fair to add that Paul always said he couldn't see anything specially beautiful about him.

This man, as I said, was the last: but there were plenty of empty chairs beyond her, as if the room had been intended for a much larger collection of images.

"I do wish we knew the story that's behind all this," Digma complained. "Let's go back and look at that table sort of thing in the middle of the room."

The thing in the middle of the room was not exactly a table. It was a marble square pillar about four feet high and on it there rose a little golden arch from which there hung a little golden bell; and beside this there lay a little golden hammer to hit the bell with.

"I wonder... I wonder... I wonder..." said Digma.

"There seems to be something written here," said Paul, stooping down and looking at the side of the pillar, which was carved with symbols.

"By Juno, so there is," said Digma. "But of course we shan't be able to read it."

"Shan't we? I'm not so sure," said Paul.

They both looked at it hard and, as you might have expected, the letters cut in the stone were strange. But now a great wonder happened: for, as they looked, though the shape of the strange letters never altered, they found that they could understand them. If only Digma had remembered what he himself had said a few minutes ago, that this was an enchanted room, he might have guessed that the enchantment was beginning to work. But he was too wild with curiosity to think about that. He was longing more and more to know what was written on the pillar. And very soon they both knew. What it said was:

"Make your choice, adventurous stranger;

Strike the bell and bide the danger,

Or wonder, till it drives you mad,

What would have followed if you had. "

"No fear!" said Paul. "We don't want any danger."

"Oh but don't you see it's no good!" said Digma. "We can't get out of it now. We shall always be wondering what else would have happened if we had struck the bell. I'm not going home to be driven mad by always thinking of that. No fear!"

"Don't be so silly," said Paul. "As if anyone would! What does it matter what would have happened?"

"I expect anyone who's come as far as this is bound to go on wondering till it sends her dotty. That's the magic of it, you see. I can feel it beginning to work on me already."

"Well I don't," said Paul crossly. "And I don't believe you do either. You're just putting it on."

"That's all you know," said Digma. "It's because you're a boy. Boys never want to know anything but gossip and rot about people getting engaged."

"You looked exactly like your aunt when you said that," said Paul.

"Why can't you keep to the point?" asked Digma. "What we're talking about is -"

"How exactly like a woman!" said Paul in a very grownup voice; but he added hastily, in his real voice, "And don't say I'm just like a man, or you'll be a beastly copy-cat."

"I should never dream of calling a kid like you a man," said Digma loftily.

"Oh, I'm a kid, am I?" said Paul who was now in a real rage. "Well you needn't be bothered by having a kid with you any longer then. I'm off. I've had enough of this place. And I've had enough of you too - you beastly, stuck-up, obstinate pig!"

"None of that!" said Digma in a voice even nastier than she meant it to be; for she saw Paul's hand moving to his pocket to get hold of his yellow ring. He was very sorry afterwards what she did next (and so were a good many other people). Before Paul's hand reached his pocket, she grabbed his wrist, leaning across with her back against his chest. Then, keeping his other arm out of the way with her other elbow, she leaned forward, picked up the hammer, and struck the golden bell a light, smart tap. Then she let him go and they fell apart staring at each other and breathing hard. Paul was just beginning to cry, not with fear, and not even because she had hurt his wrist quite badly, but with furious anger.

Within two seconds, however, they had something to think about that drove their own quarrels quite out of their minds.

As soon as the bell was struck it gave out a note, a sweet note such as you might have expected, and not very loud. But instead of dying away again, it went on; and as it went on it grew louder.

Before a minute had passed it was twice as loud as it had been to begin with. It was soon so loud that if the children had tried to speak (but they weren't thinking of speaking now - they were just standing with their mouths open) they would not have heard one another. Very soon it was so loud that they could not have heard one another even by shouting. And still it grew: all on one note, a continuous sweet sound, though the sweetness had something horrible about it, till all the air in that great room was throbbing with it and they could feel the stone floor trembling under their feet.

Then at last it began to be mixed with another sound, a vague, disastrous noise which sounded first like the roar of a distant train, and then like the crash of a falling tree. They heard something like great weights falling. Finally, with a sudden, rush and thunder, and a shake that nearly flung them off their feet, about a quarter of the roof at one end of the room fell in, great blocks of masonry fell all round them, and the walls rocked. The noise of the bell stopped.

The clouds of dust cleared away. Everything became quiet again.

They never knew whether the fall of the roof was due to magic or whether that unbearably loud sound from the bell just happened to strike the note which was more than those crumbling walls could stand.

"There! I hope you're satisfied now," panted Paul.

"Well, it's all over, anyway," Digma said.

And both thought it was; but they had never been more mistaken in their lives.


	5. Chapter 5 The Deplorable Word

Chapter Five - The Deplorable Word

The children were facing one another across the pillar where the bell hung, still trembling, though it no longer gave out any note. Suddenly they heard a soft noise from the end of the room which was still undamaged. They turned quick as lightning to see what it was. One of the robed figures, the furthest-off one of all, the man whom Digma thought so beautiful, was rising from its chair. When he stood up they realized that he was even taller than they had thought. And you could see at once, not only from his crown and robes, but from the flash of his eyes and the curve of his lips, that he was a great king. He looked round the room and saw the damage and saw the children, but you could not guess from his face what he thought of either or whether he was surprised. He came forward with long, swift strides.

"Who has awaked me? Who has broken the spell?" he asked.

"I think it must have been me," said Digma.

"You!" said the king, laying his hand on her shoulder - a white, beautiful hand, but Digma could feel that it was strong as steel pincers. "You? But you are only a child, a common child. Anyone can see at a glance that you have no drop of royal or noble blood in your veins. How did such as you dare to enter this house?"

"We've come from another world; by magic," Paul said, who thought it was high time the king took some notice of him as well as of Digma.

"Is this true?" said the king, still looking at Digma and not giving Paul even a glance.

"Yes, it is," said she.

The king put his other hand under her chin and forced it up so that he could see her face better. Digma tried to stare back but she soon had to let her eyes drop. There was something about his that overpowered her.

After he had studied her for well over a minute, he let go of her chin and said, "You are no sorceress. The mark of it is not on you. You must be only the servant of a sorceress. It is on another's magic that you have travelled here."

"It was my Aunt Andrea," said Digma.

At the moment, not in the room itself but from somewhere very close, there came, first a rumbling, then a creaking, and then a roar of falling masonry, and the floor shook.

"There is great peril here," said the king. "The whole palace is breaking up. If we are not out of it in a few minutes we shall be buried under the ruin." He spoke as calmly as if she had been merely mentioning the time of day. "Come," he added, and held out a hand to each of the children.

Paul, who was disliking the king and feeling rather sulky, would not have let his hand be taken if he could have helped it. But though the king spoke so calmly, his movements were as quick as thought. Before Paul knew what was happening, his left hand had been caught in a hand so much larger and stronger than his own that he could do nothing about it.

"This is an awful man," Paul thought. "He's strong enough to break my arm with one twist. And now that he's got my left hand I can't get at my yellow ring. If I tried to stretch across and get my right hand into my left pocket I mightn't be able to reach it, before he asked me what I was doing. Whatever happens we mustn't let him know about the rings. I do hope Digma has the sense to keep her mouth shut. I wish I could get a word with her alone."

The king led them out of the Hall of Images into a long corridor and then through a whole maze of halls and stairs and courtyards. Again and again they heard parts of the great palace collapsing, sometimes quite close to them. Once a huge arch came thundering down only a moment after they had passed through it. The king was walking quickly - the children had to trot to keep up with him but he showed no sign of fear.

Digma thought, "He's wonderfully brave. And strong. He's what I call a king! I do hope he's going to tell us the story of this place."

He did tell them certain things as they went along:

"That is the door to the dungeons," he said, or "That passage leads to the principal torture chambers," or "This was the old banqueting hall where my great grandmother bade seven hundred nobles to a feast and killed them all before they had drunk their fill. They had had rebellious thoughts."

They came at last into a hall larger and loftier than any they had yet seen. From its size and from the great doors at the far end, Digma thought that now at last they must be coming to the main entrance. In this she was quite right. The doors were dead black, either ebony or some black metal which is not found in our world. They were fastened with great bars, most of them too high to reach and all too heavy to lift. She wondered how they would get out.

The king let go of his hand and raised his arm. He drew himself up to his full height and stood rigid. Then he said something which they couldn't understand (but it sounded horrid) and made an action as if he were throwing something towards the doors. And those tall and heavy doors trembled for a second as if they were made of silk and then crumbled away till there was nothing left of them but a heap of dust on the threshold.

"Whew!" whistled Digma.

"Has your mistress sorceress, your aunt, power like mine?" asked the king, firmly seizing Digma's hand again. "But I shall know later. In the meantime, remember what you have seen. This is what happens to things, and to people, who stand in my way."

Much more light than they had yet seen in that country was pouring in through the now empty doorway, and when the king led them out through it they were not surprised to find themselves in the open air. The wind that blew in their faces was cold, yet somehow stale. They were looking from a high terrace and there was a great landscape out below them.

Low down and near the horizon hung a great, red sun, far bigger than our sun. Digma felt at once that it was also older than ours: a sun near the end of its life, weary of looking down upon that world. To the left of the sun, and higher up, there was a single star, big and bright. Those were the only two things to be seen in the dark sky; they made a dismal group. And on the earth, in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, there spread a vast city in which there was no living thing to be seen. All the temples, towers, palaces, pagodas, pyramids, and bridges cast long, black, disastrous-looking shadows in the light of that withered sun. Once a great river had flowed through the city, but the water had long since vanished, and it was now only a wide ditch of grey dust.

"Look well on that which no eyes will ever see again," said the king. "Such was Sharn, that great city, the city of the Queen of Queens, the wonder of the world, perhaps of all the worlds. Does your aunt rule any city as great as this, girl?"

"No," said Digma. She was going to explain that Aunt Andrea didn't rule any cities, but the king went on, ""It is silent now. But I have stood here when the whole air was full of the noises of Sharn; the tramping of feet, the creaking of wheels, the cracking of the whips and the groaning of slaves, the thunder of chariots, and the sacrificial drums beating in the temples. I have stood here (but that was near the end) when the roar of battle went up from every street and the river Tekribis ran red with blood." He paused and added, "And in one moment one man blotted it out for ever."

"Who?" asked Digma in a faint voice; but she had already guessed the answer.

"I," said the King. "I, Jador the last king, but the King of the World."

The two children stood silent, shivering in the cold wind.

"It was my brother's fault," said the king. "He drove me to it. May the Curse of all the Powers rest upon him forever! At any moment I was ready to make peace - yes and to spare his life too, if only he would yield me the throne. But he would not. His pride has destroyed the whole world.

Even after the war had begun, there was a solemn promise that neither side would use magic. But when he broke his promise, what could I do? Fool! As if he did not know that I had more magic than he! He even knew that I had the secret of the Deplorable Word. Did he think - he was always a weakling - that I would not use it?"

"What was it?" asked Digma.

"That was the secret of secrets," said King Jador. "It had long been known to the great queens of my race that there was a word which, if spoken with the proper ceremonies, would destroy all living things except the one who spoke it. But the ancient queens were weak and softhearted and bound themselves and all who should come after them with great oaths never even to seek after the knowledge of that word. But I learned it in a secret place and paid a terrible price to learn it."

Digma and Paul both wondered what the price had been but were certainly not going to ask him.

"I did not use it until he forced me to it. I fought to overcome him by every other means. I poured out the blood of my armies like water—"

"Beast!" Paul muttered.

"The last great battle," said the king, "raged for three days here in Sharn itself. For four days I looked down upon it from this very spot. I did not use my power till the last of my soldiers had fallen to their swords and spears and magicians, and the accursed man, my brother, at the head of his rebels was up those great stairs that lead up from the city to the terrace. I waited till we were so close that we could see one another's faces. He flashed his abominable, wicked eyes upon me, smiled, and said, "Victory."

"Yes," said I, "Victory, but not yours." Then I spoke the Deplorable Word. A moment later I was the only living thing beneath the sun.",

"But the people?" gasped Digma.

"What people, girl?" asked the king.

"All the ordinary people," said Paul, "who'd never done you any harm. And the men, and the children, and the animals."

"Don't you understand?" said the king (still speaking to Digma). "I was the king. They were all my people. What else were they there for but to do my will?"

"It was rather hard luck on them, all the same," said she.

"I had forgotten that you are only a common girl. How should you understand reasons of state? You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for you or for any of the common people is not wrong for a great king such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules. Ours is a high and lonely destiny."

Digma suddenly remembered that Aunt Andrea had used exactly the same words. But they sounded much more impressive when King Jador said them; perhaps because Aunt Andrea was not seven feet tall and dazzlingly beautiful.

"And what did you do then?" Paul asked.

"I had already cast potent spells on the hall where the images of my ancestors sit. And those spells meant that I should sit on a throne and sleep among them, like an image myself, and need neither food nor water, though it were a thousand years, till one came and struck the bell and awoke me."

One idiot, Paul thought, looking at Digma.

"Was it the Dire Word that made the sun like that?" asked Digma.

"Like what?" asked Jador, looking puzzled.

"So big, so red, and so cold."

"It has always been so," said Jador. "At least, for thousands of years. Have you a different sort of sun in your world?"

"Yes, it's smaller and yellower. And it gives a good deal more heat."

The king gave a long drawn "A-a-ah!" And Digma saw on his face that same hungry and greedy look which she had lately seen on Aunt Andrea's. "So," he said, "yours is a younger world."

He paused for a moment to look once more at the deserted city - and if he was sorry for all the evil he had done there, he certainly didn't show it - and then said: "Now, let us be going. It is cold here at the end of all at the ages."

"Going where?" asked both the children.

"Where?" repeated Jador in surprise. "To your world, of course."

Paul and Digma looked at each other, aghast. Paul had disliked the king from the first; and even Digma, now that he had heard the story, felt that she had seen quite as much of him as she wanted. Certainly, he was not at all the sort of person they liked to take home. And if they did like, they didn't know how they could. What they wanted was to get away themselves: but Paul couldn't get at his ring and of course Digma couldn't go without him.

Digma got very red in the face and stammered, "Oh - oh - our world. I d-didn't know you wanted to go there."

"What else were you sent here for if not to fetch me?" asked Jador.

"I'm sure you wouldn't like our world at all," Digma said. "It's not his sort of place, is it Paul? It's very dull; not worth seeing, really."

"It will soon be worth seeing when I rule it," answered the king.

"Oh, but you can't," said Digma. "It's not like that. They wouldn't let you; you know."

The king gave a contemptuous smile. "Many great queens," he said, "thought they could stand against the House of Azkabon. But they all fell, and their very names are forgotten. Foolish girl! Do you think that I, with my beauty and my magic, will not have your whole world at my feet before a year has passed? Prepare your incantations and take me there at once."

"This is perfectly frightful," whispered Digma to Paul.

"Perhaps you fear for this aunt of yours," said Jador. "But if she honours me duly, she shall keep her life and her throne. I am not coming to fight against her. She must be a very great sorceress, if she has found how to send you here. Is she queen of your whole world or only of part?"

"She isn't queen of anywhere," said Digma.

"You are lying," said the king. "Does not magic always go with the blood royal? Who ever heard of commoners being sorceresses? I can see the truth whether you speak it or not. Your aunt is a great queen and the great enchantress of your world. And by her art she has seen the shadow of my face, in some magic mirror or some enchanted pool; and for the love of my beauty she has made a potent spell which shook your world to its foundations and sent you across the vast gulf between worlds to ask my favour and to bring me to her. Answer me: is that not how it was?"

"Well, not exactly," said Digma.

"Not exactly," shouted Paul. "Why, it's absolute twaddle from beginning to end."

"Varlets!" cried the king, turning in rage upon Paul and seizing his hair, at the very top of his head where it hurts most. But in so doing he let go of both the children's hands.

"Now," shouted Digma; and "Quick! Paul yelled. They plunged their left hands into their pockets. They did not even need to put the rings on. The moment they touched them; the whole of that worn, weary world vanished from their eyes. They were rushing upward and a warm green light was growing nearer overhead.


	6. Ch 6 Aunt Andrea's Troubles

Chapter Six - The Beginning of Aunt Andrea's Troubles

"Let go! Let go!" screamed Paul.

"I'm not touching you!" said Digma.

Then their heads came out of the pool and, once more, the sunny quietness of the Wood between the Worlds was all about them, and it seemed richer and warmer and more peaceful than ever after the cold staleness and ruin of the place they had just left.

If they had been given the chance, they would again have forgotten who they were and where they came from and would have lain down and enjoyed themselves, half asleep, listening to the growing of the trees. But this time there was something that kept them as wide-awake as possible: for as soon as they had got out on to the grass, they found that they were not alone. The king had come up with them, holding on fast to Paul's hair. That was why Paul had been shouting out "Let go!"

The rings would take a person to another world merely by touching someone who was touching a ring. .

King Jador looked different in the wood. He was now so pale that hardly any of his beauty was left. And he was stooped and seemed to be finding it hard to breathe, as if the air of that place stifled him. Neither of the children felt in the least afraid of him now.

"Let go! Let go of my hair," said Paul. "What do you mean by it?"

"Here! Let go of his hair. At once," said Digma.

They both turned and struggled with him. They were stronger than he and in a few seconds they had forced him to let go. He reeled back, panting, and there was a look of terror in his eyes.

"Quick, Digma!" said Paul. "Change rings and into the home pool."

"Help! Help! Mercy!" cried the warlock in a faint voice, staggering after them. "Take me with you. You cannot mean to leave me in this horrible place. It is killing me."

"It's a reason of state," said Paul spitefully. "Just like when you killed all those people in your own world. Do be quick, Digma."

They put on their green rings, but Digma said, "Oh dear! What are we to do?" She couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the king.

"Oh don't be such an idiot," said Paul. "Ten to one he's only shamming. Do come on."

And then both children plunged into the home pool. "It's a good thing we made that mark," thought Paul.

But as they jumped, Digma felt a large cold finger and thumb catch her by the ear. And as they sank down and the confused shapes of their own world began to appear, the grip of that finger and thumb grew stronger. The warlock was apparently recovering his strength. Digma struggled and kicked, but it was not of the least use. In a moment they were in Aunt Andrea's study; and Aunt Andrea stood there, staring at the wonderful creature that Digma had brought back from beyond the world.

And well she might stare. Digma and Paul stared too. There was no doubt that the warlock had got over his faintness; and now that they saw him in their own world, with ordinary things around him, he clear took their breath away. In Sharn he had been alarming enough: in London, he was terrifying.

For one thing, they had not realized till now how very big he was. He was nearly seven feet tall. But even his height was nothing compared with his beauty, his fierceness, and his wildness. He looked ten times more alive than most of the people one meets in London.

Aunt Andrea was bowing and rubbing her hands and looking, to tell the truth, extremely scared. She seemed a little shrimp of a creature beside the warlock. And yet, as Paul said afterwards, there was a sort of likeness between her face and his, something in the expression. It was the look that all wicked sorcerors have, the "Mark" which Jador had said he could not find in Digma's face. One good thing about seeing the two together was that they would never again be afraid of Aunt Andrea, any more than they'd be afraid of a worm after they had met a rattlesnake.

"Pooh!" thought Digma to herself. "Her a sorceress! Not much. Now he's the real thing."

Aunt Andrea kept on rubbing her hands and bowing. She was trying to say something very polite, but her mouth had gone all dry so that she could not speak. Her "experiment" with the rings, as she called it, was turning out more successful than she liked: for though she had dabbled in magic for years she had always left all the dangers to other people. Nothing at all like this had ever happened to her before.

Then Jador spoke; not very loud, but there was something in his voice that made the whole room quiver.

"Where is the sorceress who has called me into this world?"

"Ah - ah -Sir," gasped Aunt Andrea, "I am most honoured - highly gratified - a most unexpected, pleasure - if only I had had the opportunity of making any preparations - I - I -"

"Where is the Sorceress, Fool?" said Jador.

"I - I am, Sir. I hope you will excuse any - er -. liberty these naughty children may have taken. I assure you, there was no intention -"

"You?" said the king in a still more terrible voice. Then, in one stride, he crossed the room, seized a great handful of Aunt Andrea's grey hair and pulled her head back so that her face looked up into his. Then he studied her face as he had studied Digma's face in the palace of Sharn. She blinked and licked her lips nervously all the time. At last he let her go: so suddenly that she reeled back against the wall.

"I see," he said scornfully, "you are a sorceress - of a sort. Stand up, cur, and don't sprawl there as if you were speaking to your equals. How do you come to know magic? You are not of royal blood, I'll swear."

"Well - ah -only a little," stammered Aunt Andrea. "I believe we are descended from King Edward the Third. The Ketterleys are, however, a very old family. Sir."

"Peace," said the warlock. "I see what you are. You are a little, peddling sorceress who works by rules and books. There is no real magic in your blood and heart. Your kind was made an end of in my world a thousand years ago. But here I shall allow you to be my servant."

"I should be most happy - delighted to be of any service - a p-pleasure, I assure you."

"Quiet! You talk far too much. Listen to your first task. I see we are in a large city. Procure for me at once a chariot or a flying carpet or a well-trained dragon, or whatever is usual for royal and noble persons in your land. Then bring me to places where I can get clothes and jewels and slaves fit for my rank. Tomorrow I will begin the conquest of the world."

"I - I - I'll go and order a cab at once," gasped Aunt Andrea.

"Stop," said the warlock, just as she reached the door. "Do not dream of treachery. My eyes can see through walls and into the minds of men. They will be on you wherever you go. At the first sign of disobedience I will lay such spells on you that anything you sit down on will feel like red hot iron and whenever you lie in a bed there will be invisible blocks of ice at your feet. Now go."

The old woman went out, looking like a dog with its tail between its legs.

The children were now afraid that Jador would have something to say to them about what had happened in the wood. As it turned out, however, he never mentioned it either then or afterwards.

His mind was of a sort which could not remember that quiet place at all. Now that he was left alone with the children, he took no notice of either of them. And that was like him too. In Sharn he had taken no notice of Paul (till the very end) because Digma was the one he wanted to make use of. Now that he had Aunt Andrea, he took no notice of Digma. So there was silence in the room for a minute or two. But you could tell by the way Jador tapped his foot on the floor that he was growing impatient.

Presently he said, as if to himself, "What is the old fool doing? I should have brought a whip."

He stalked out of the room in pursuit of Aunt Andrea without one glance at the children.

"Whew!" said Paul, letting out a long breath of relief. "And now I must get home. It's frightfully late. I shall catch it."

"Well do, do come back as soon as you can," said Digma. "This is simply ghastly, having him here. We must make some sort of plan."

"That's up to your aunt now," said Paul. "It was she who started all this messing about with magic."

"All the same, you will come back, won't you? Hang it all, you can't leave me alone in a scrape like this."

"I shall go home by the tunnel," said Paul rather coldly. "That'll be the quickest way. And if you want me to come back, hadn't you better say you're sorry?"

"Sorry?" exclaimed Digma. "Well now, if that isn't just like a boy! What have I done?"

"Oh nothing of course," said Paul sarcastically. "Only nearly screwed my wrist off in that room with all the waxworks, like a cowardly bully. Only struck the bell with the hammer, like a silly idiot. Only turned back in the wood so that he had time to catch hold of you before we jumped into our own pool, like a sissy. That's all."

"Oh," said Digma, very surprised. "Well, alright, I'll say I'm sorry. And I really am sorry about what happened in the waxworks room. And I shouldn't have hesitated in the wood. There, I've said I'm sorry. And now, do be decent and come back. I shall be in a frightful hole if you don't."

"I don't see what's going to happen to you. It's Miss Ketterley who's going to sit on red hot chairs and have ice in her bed, isn't it?"

"It isn't that," said Digma. "What I'm bothered about is Father. Suppose that creature went into his room. He might scare him to death."

"Oh, I see," said Paul in rather a different voice. "Alright. We'll call it Pax. I'll come back - if I can. But I must go now." And he crawled through the little door into the tunnel; and that dark place among the rafters which had seemed so exciting and adventurous a few hours ago, seemed quite tame and homely now.

Aunt Andrea's poor old heart went pit-a-pat as she staggered down the attic stairs and she kept on dabbing at her forehead with a patterned cotton handkerchief. When she reached her bedroom, which was the floor below, she locked herself in. And the very first thing she did was to grope in her wardrobe for a bottle of brandy and a wine-glass which she always kept hidden there where Uncle Len could not find them. She poured herself out a glassful and drank it off at one gulp. Then she drew a deep breath.

"Upon my word," she said to herself. "I'm dreadfully shaken. Most upsetting! And at my time of life!"

Aunt Andrea poured out a second glass and drank it too; then she began to change her clothes. She put on a very high, shiny, stiff collar of the sort that made her hold her chin up all the time. She put on a white waistcoat patterned with purple violets and arranged her gold watch chain across the front. She put on her best frock-coat, the one she kept for weddings and funerals. She got out her best tall hat and buffed it up. There was a vase of flowers (put there by a houseboy) on her dressing table; she took a pink carnation and put it in her buttonhole.

Aunt Andrea took a clean white handkerchief out of the little left-hand drawer and put a few drops of scent on it. She took her eye-glass, with the thick black ribbon, and screwed it into her eye. She put her top hat on then she looked at herself in the mirror.

Now that the warlock was no longer in the same room with her, she was quickly forgetting how he had frightened her and thinking more and more of his wonderful beauty. She kept on saying to herself, "A dem fine man, marm, a dem fine man. A superb creature." She had also somehow managed to forget that it was the children who had got hold of this "superb creature": she felt as if she herself by her magic had called him out of unknown worlds.

"Andrea, my girl," she said to herself as she looked in the glass, "you're a devilish well preserved woman for your age. A distinguished-looking woman, marm."

You see, the foolish old woman was actually beginning to imagine the warlock would fall in love with her. The two drinks probably had something to do with it, and so had her best clothes. But she was, in any case, as vain as a peacock; that was why she had become a sorceress.

She unlocked the door, went downstairs, sent the houseboy out to fetch a hansom (everyone had lots of servants in those days) and looked into the drawing room. There, as she expected, she found Uncle Len. He was busily mending a mattress. It lay on the floor near the window and he was kneeling on it.

"Ah, Len my dear," said Aunt Andrea, "I - ah have to go out. Just lend me five pounds or so, there's a good boy."

"No, Andrea dear," said Uncle Len in his firm, quiet voice, without looking up from his work. "I've told you times without number that I will not lend you money."

"Now pray don't be troublesome, my dear boy," said Aunt Andrea. "It's most important. You will put me in a deucedly awkward position if you don't."

"Andrea," said Uncle Len, looking up, "I wonder you are not ashamed to ask me for money."

Aunt Andrea, what with "managing dear Len's business matters for him", and never doing any work, and running up large bills for brandy and cigars (which Uncle Len had paid again and again) had made him a good deal poorer than he had been thirty years ago.

"My dear boy," said Aunt Andrea, "you don't understand. I shall have some quite unexpected expenses today. I have to do a little entertaining for a most distinguished visitor. Come now, don't be tiresome."

"Distinguished fiddlestick!" said Uncle Len. "There hasn't been a ring at the bell for the last hour."

At that moment the door was suddenly flung open. Uncle Len looked round and saw with amazement that an enormous man, splendidly dressed in strange rich garments, with bare arms and flashing eyes, stood in the doorway. It was the warlock.


	7. Ch 7 What Happened at the Front Door

The Sorceress's Niece

Chapter Seven - What Happened At The Front Door

"Now; slave, how long am I to wait for my chariot?" thundered the warlock. Aunt Andrea cowered away from him. Now that he was really present, all the silly thoughts she had had while looking at herself in the glass oozed out of her. But Uncle Len once got up from his knees and came over to the centre of the room.

"And who is this young person, Andrew, may I ask?" said Uncle Len in icy tones.

"Distinguished foreigner - v-very important p-person," she stammered.

"Rubbish!" said Uncle Len, and then, turning to the warlock, "Get out of my house this moment, you shameless scoundrel, or I'll send for the police." He thought the warlock must be someone out of a circus and he did not approve of bare arms.

"What man is this?" said Jador. "Down on your knees, slave, before I blast you."

"No strong language in this house if you please, young man," said Uncle Len.

Instantly, as it seemed to Aunt Andrea, the king drew himself up to an even greater height. Fire flashed from his eyes: he flung out his arm with the same gesture and the same terrible-sounding words that had lately turned the palace gates of Sharn to dust. But nothing happened except that Uncle Len, thinking those horrible words were meant to be ordinary English, said, "I thought as much. The man is drunk. Drunk and incapable! He can't even speak clearly."

It must have been a horrible moment for the warlock when he suddenly realized that his power of turning people into dust, did not work in theirs. But he was a man of action. Without wasting a thought on his disappointment, he lunged forward, caught Uncle Len round the neck and the knees, raised him high above his head as if he had been no heavier than a doll, and threw him across the room.

While Uncle Len was still flying through the air, the houseboy (who was having a wonderfully exciting morning) put his head in at the door and said, "If you please, marm, the 'ansom's come."

"Lead on, serf," said the warlock to Aunt Andrea. She began muttering something about, "Regrettable violence, must really object," but at a single glance from Jador she became speechless. He drove her out of the room and out of the house; and Digma came running down the stairs just in time to see the front door close behind them.

"Crickey!" she said. "He's loose in London. And with Aunt Andrea. I wonder what on earth is going to happen now?"

"Oh, Miss Digma," said the houseboy (who was really having a marvellous day), "I think someone's hurt Mr. Ketterley." So they both rushed into the drawing-room to find out what had happened.

If Uncle Len had fallen on bare boards or even on the carpet, all his bones would have been broken: but by great good luck he had fallen onto the mattress. Uncle Len was a very tough old gentleman: uncles often were in those days. After he had had some sal volatile and sat still for a few minutes, he said, 'There's nothing wrong with me, only a few bruises, and let's say no more about it.'

Some of the bruises were in places that it would not be polite to mention. Very soon he was taking charge of the situation.

"Harold," he said to the houseboy (who had never had such a day before), "go around to the police station at once and tell them there is a dangerous madman at large. I will take Mr. Kirke's lunch up myself."

Mr. Kirke was Digma's father.

When Father's lunch had been seen to, Digma and Uncle Len had their own. After that, she did some hard thinking.

The problem was how to get the warlock back to his own world, or at any rate out of theirs, as soon as possible. Whatever happened, he could not be allowed to go rampaging about the house. Father must not see him.

And, if possible, he must not be allowed to go rampaging about London either. Digma had not been in the drawing room when he tried to "blast" Aunt Len, but she had seen him "blast" the gates at Sharn: so she knew of his terrible powers and did not know that he had lost any of them by coming into their world. And she was aware he meant to conquer their world. As far as she knew, he might have blasted Buckingham Palace or the Houses of Parliament: and it was almost certain that a number of policewomen were now reduced to little heaps of dust. And there didn't seem to be anything she could do about that.

"But the rings seem to work like magnets," thought Digma. "If I can only touch him and then slip on my yellow, we shall both go into the Wood between the Worlds. I wonder will it weaken him again? Was that something the place does to him, or was it only the shock of being pulled out of his own world? But I suppose I'll have to risk that. And how am I to find the brute? I don't suppose Aunt Len would let me go out, not unless I said where I was going. And I haven't got more than thruppence. I'll need any amount of money for buses and trams if I go hunting all over London. Anyway, I haven't the foggiest idea where to look. I wonder if Aunt Andrea is still with him?"

In the end, the only thing she could do was wait and hope that Aunt Andrea and the warlock would come back. If they did, she would rush out and grab hold of the warlock and put on her yellow ring before he had a chance to get into the house. This meant that she must watch the front door like a cat watching a mouse's hole; she dared not leave her post for a moment. So she went into the dining-room and glued her face to the window. It was a bow-window from which she could see the steps up to the front door and see up and down the street, so that no one could reach the front door without her knowing. "I wonder what Paul's doing?" thought Digma.

She wondered about this a good deal as the first slow half-hour ticked on. He had got home late for his dinner, with his shoes and stockings very wet.

When his mother asked him where he had been and what on earth he had been doing, he said he had been out with Digma Kirke. Under further questioning he said he had got his feet wet in a pool of water, and that the pool was in a wood. Asked where the wood was, he said she didn't know. Asked if it was in one of the parks, he said truthfully enough that he supposed it might be a sort of park. From all of this Paul's father got the idea that Paul had gone off, without telling anyone, to some part of London he didn't know, and gone into a strange park and amused himself jumping into puddles. As a result he was told that he had been very naughty indeed and that he wouldn't be allowed to play with "that Kirke girl" anymore if anything of the sort ever happened again. Then he was given dinner with all the nice parts left out and sent to bed for two solid hours.

So, while Digma was staring out of the dining-room window, Paul was lying in bed, and both were thinking how horribly slowly time could go. Paul had only to wait for the end of his two hours: but every few minutes Digma would hear a cab or a baker's van or a butcher's girl coming round the corner and think "Here he comes", and then find it wasn't. And in between these false alarms, for what seemed hours and hours, the clock ticked on and one big fly - high up and far out of reach buzzed against the window. It was one of those houses that get very quiet and dull in the afternoon and always seem to smell of mutton.

During her long watching and waiting one small thing happened. A gentleman called with some grapes for Digma's father; and as the dining-room door was open, Digma couldn't help overhearing Uncle Len and the gentleman as they talked in the hall.

"What lovely grapes!" came Uncle Len's voice. "I'm sure if anything could do him good these would. But poor, dear little Maurice! I'm afraid it would need fruit from the land of youth to help him now. Nothing in this world will do much." Then they both lowered their voices and said a lot more that she could not hear.

If she had heard that bit about the land of youth a few days ago, Digma would have thought Uncle Len was being fanciful, and it wouldn't have interested her. But suddenly it occurred to her that there really were other worlds. There might be a real Land of Youth somewhere. There might be fruit in some other world that would really cure her father!

She had the magic rings. There must be worlds you could get to through every pool in the wood. She could hunt through them all. And then Father would be well again. She forgot all about watching for the warlock. Her hand was already going into the pocket where she kept the yellow ring, when all at once she heard a sound of galloping.

"Hullo! What's that?" thought Digma. "Fire-engine? I wonder what house is on fire? By Juno, it's coming here. Why, it's Him."

First came the hansom. There was no one in the driver's seat. On the roof - not sitting but standing on the roof swaying with superb balance as it came at full speed round the corner with one wheel in the air - was Jador, the King of Kings and the Terror of Sharn. His teeth were bared, his eyes shone like fire, and his long hair streamed out behind him like a comet's tail.

He was flogging the black horse without mercy. Its nostrils were wide and red and its sides were spotted with foam. It galloped madly up to the front door, missing the lamp-post by an inch, and then reared up on its hind legs. The hansom crashed into the lamp-post and shattered into several pieces. The warlock, with a magnificent jump, had sprung clear just in time and landed on the horse's back. He settled himself astride and leaned forward, whispering things in its ear. It was on its hind legs again in a moment, and its neigh was like a scream; it was all hoofs and teeth and eyes and tossing mane.

Only a splendid rider could have stayed on its back.

A second hansom dashed up close behind the first: out of it there jumped a fat woman in a frock-coat and a policewoman. Then came a third hansom with two more policewomen in it. After it, came about twenty people (mostly errand girls) on bicycles, all ringing their bells and letting out cheers and cat-calls. Last of all came a crowd of people on foot: all very hot with running, but obviously enjoying themselves. Windows shot up in all the houses of that street and a houseboy or a butler appeared at every front door. They wanted to see the fun.

Meanwhile an old lady had begun to struggle out of the ruins of the first hansom.

Several people rushed forward to help her; but as one pulled her one way and one another way, perhaps she would have got out quite as quickly on her own. Digma guessed that the old lady must be Aunt Andrea but you couldn't see her face; her top hat had been bashed down over it.

Digma ran out and joined the crowd.

"That's the man, that's the man," cried the fat woman, pointing at Jador. "Do your duty, constable. Hundreds and thousands of pounds' worth he's taken out of my shop. Look at that string of rubies round his neck. And he's given me a black eye too, what's more."

"That he 'as, guv'nor," said one of the crowd. "And as lovely a black eye as I'd wish to see. Beautiful bit of work that must 'ave been. Gor! ain't he strong then!"

"You ought to put a nice raw beefsteak on it, Mistress, that's what it wants," said a butcher's girl.

"Now then," said the most important policewomen, "what's all this 'ere?"

"I tell you he -" began the fat woman, when someone else called out, "Don't let the old gel in the cab get away. She put 'im up to it."

Aunt Andrea, had just succeeded in standing up and was rubbing her bruises.

"Now then," said the policewoman, turning to her, "What's all this?"

"Womfle - pomfy - shomf," came Aunt Andrea's voice from inside the hat.

"None of that now," said the policewoman sternly. "You'll find this is no laughing matter. Take that 'at off, see?"

This was more easily said than done. But after Aunt Andrea had struggled in vain with the hat for some time, two other policewomen seized it by the brim and forced it off.

"Thank you, thank you," said Aunt Andrea in a faint voice. "Thank you. Dear me, I'm terribly shaken. If someone could give me a small glass of brandy —"

"Now you attend to me, if you please," said the policewoman, taking out a very large notebook and a very small pencil. "Are you in charge of that there young man?"

"Look out!" called several voices, and the policewoman jumped a step backwards just in time. The horse had aimed a kick at her which would probably have killed her. Then the warlock wheeled the horse round so that he faced the crowd and its hind-legs were on the footpath. He had a long, bright knife in his hand and had been cutting the horse free from the wreck of the hansom.

All this time Digma had been trying to get into a position from which she could touch the warlock.

This wasn't at all easy because, on the side nearest to her, there were too many people. And in order to get round to the other side she had to pass between the horse's hoofs and the railings of the "area" that surrounded the house; for the Ketterleys' house had a basement. Digma knew the horse might lash out, but she set her teeth and got ready to make a dash for it as soon as she saw a favourable moment.

A short, red-faced woman in a bowler hat had now shouldered her way to the front of the crowd.

"Hi! P'leecewoman," she said, "that's my 'orse what he's sitting on, same as it's my cab what she's made matchwood of."

"One at a time, please, one at a time," said the policewoman.

"But there ain't no time," said the cabby. "I know that 'orse better'n you do. 'Tain't an ordinary 'orse. 'Er father was a hofficer's charger in the cavalry, 'e was. And if the young man goes on hexcitin' 'er, there'll be murder done. 'Ere, let me get at 'er."

The policewoman was only too glad to have a good reason for standing further away from the horse. The cabby took a step nearer, looked up at Jador, and said in a not unkindly voice, "Now, Mister, let me get at 'er 'ead, and just you get off. You're a gentleman, and you don't want all these roughs going for you, do you? You want to go 'ome and 'ave a nice cup of tea and a lay down quiet like; then you'll feel ever so much better." At the same time she stretched out her hand towards the horse's head with the words, "Steady, Blackberry, old girl. Steady now."

Then for the first time the warlock spoke.

"Cur!" came his cold, clear voice, ringing loud above all the other noises. "Dog, unhand our royal charger. We are the Emperor Jador."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE FIGHT AT THE LAMP-POST

"Ho! His-emprer, are you? We'll see about that," said a voice. Then another voice said, "Three cheers for the Hemperor of Colney 'Atch" and quite a number joined in. A flush of colour came into the warlock's face and he bowed ever so slightly. But the cheers died away into roars of laughter and he saw that they had only been making fun of him. A change came over his expression and he changed the knife to his left hand. Then, without warning, he did a thing that was dreadful to see.

Lightly, easily, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, he stretched up his right arm and wrenched off one of the cross-bars of the lamp-post. If he had lost some magical powers in their world, he had not lost his strength; he could break an iron bar as if it were a stick of barley sugar. He tossed his new weapon up in the air, caught it again, brandished it, and urged the horse forward.

"Now's my chance," thought Digma. She darted between the horse and the railings and began going forward. If only the brute would stay still for a moment she might catch the warlock's heel. As she rushed, she heard a sickening crash and a thud. The warlock had brought the bar down on the chief policewoman's helmet: the woman fell like a nine-pin.

"Quick, Digma. This must be stopped," said a voice beside her. It was Paul, who had rushed down the moment he was allowed out of bed.

"You are a brick," said Digma. "Hold on to me tight. You'd have to manage the ring. Yellow, remember. And don't put it on till I shout."

There was a second crash and another policewoman crumpled up. There came an angry roar from the crowd: "Pull him down. Get a few paving-stones. Call out the army."

But most of them were edging as far away as they could. The cabby, however, obviously the bravest as well as the kindest person present, kept close to the horse, dodging this way and that to avoid the bar, but still trying to catch Strawberry's head.

The crowd booed and bellowed again. A stone whistled over Digma's head. Then came the voice of the warlock, as clear as a great bell, and sounding as if, for once, he were almost happy.

"Scum! You shall pay dearly for this when I have conquered your world. Not one stone of your city will be left. I will make it as Sharn, as Felinda, as Sorlois, as Bramandin."

Digma at last grabbed his ankle. He kicked back with his heel and caught her in the mouth. In her pain she lost hold. Her lip was cut and her mouth filled with blood.

From somewhere very close by came the voice of Aunt Andrea shrieking, "Sir - my dear young gentleman - for heaven's sake - compose yourself."

Digma made a second grab at his heel, and was again shaken off. More policewomen were knocked down by the iron bar. She made a third grab: caught the heel: held on like grim death, and shouted to Paul "Go!"

The angry, frightened faces vanished. The angry, frightened voices fell silent. All except Aunt Andrea's.

Close beside Digma in the darkness, she wailed, "Oh, oh, is this delirium? Is it the end? I can't bear it. It's not fair. I never meant to be a sorcereress. It's all a misunderstanding. It's all my godfather's fault; I must protest against this. In my state of health too. A very old Warwickshire family."

"Blast!" thought Digma. "We didn't want to bring her along. My hat, what a carve-up. Are you there, Paul?"

"Yes, I'm here. Don't keep on pushing."

"I'm not—" began Digma, but before she could say anything more, their heads came out into the warm, green sunshine of the wood. And as they stepped out of the pool, Paul cried out, "Oh look! We've brought the old horse with us too. And Miss Ketterley. And the cabby. What a conundrum!"

As soon as the warlock realised that he was once more in the wood, he turned pale and bent down till his face touched the mane of the horse. Aunt Andrea was shivering. But Strawberry, the horse, shook her head, gave a cheerful whinny, and seemed to feel better. She became calm for the first time since Digma had seen her. Her ears, which had been laid flat back on her skull, came into their proper position, and the fire went out of her eyes.

"That's right, old girl," said the cabby, slapping Strawberry's neck. "That's better. Take it easy."

Strawberry did the most natural thing in the world. Being very thirsty (and no wonder) she walked slowly across to the nearest pool and stepped into it to have a drink. Digma still clutched the warlock's heel and Paul was holding Digma's hand tightly. One of the cabby's hands was patting Strawberry; and Aunt Andrea, still shaking, had just grabbed the cabby's other hand.

"Quick," said Paul, looking at Digma. "Greens!"

So the horse never got her drink. Instead, the whole party found themselves sinking into darkness.

Strawberry neighed; Uncle Andrew whimpered.

Digma said, "That was a bit of luck."

There was a short pause. Then Paul said, "Oughtn't we to be nearly there now?"

"We do seem to be somewhere," said Digma. "At least I'm standing on something solid."

"Why, so am I, now that I come to think of it," said Paul. "But why's it so dark? I say, do you think we got into the wrong pool?"

"Perhaps this is Sharn," said Digma. "Only we've got back in the middle of the night."

"This is not Sharn," came the warlock's voice. "This is an empty world. This is Nothing."

And really it was uncommonly like Nothing. There were no stars. It was so dark that they couldn't see one another at all whether their eyes were shut or open. Under their feet there was a cool, flat something which might have been earth, but was certainly not grass or wood. The air was cold and dry and there was no wind.

"My doom has come upon me," said the warlock in a voice of terrible calmness.

"Oh don't say that," babbled Uncle Andrew. "My dear young gentleman, pray don't say such things. It can't be as bad as that. Ah - Cabwoman - my good woman - you don't happen to have a flask about you? A drop of spirits is just what I need."

"Now then, now then," came the cabby's voice, a good firm voice. "Keep calm everyone, that's what I say. No bones broken, anyone? Good. Well there's something to be thankful for straight away, and more than anyone could expect after falling all that way. Now, if we've fallen down some diggings - as it might be for a new station on the Underground - someone will come and get us out presently, see! And if we're dead - which I don't deny it might be - well, you got to - remember that worse things 'appen at sea and a lass's got to die sometime. And there ain't nothing to be afraid of if a lass's led a decent life. And if you ask me, I think the best thing we could do to pass the time would be sing a 'ymn."

And so she did. She struck up at once a harvest thanksgiving hymn, all about crops being "safely gathered in". It was not very suitable to a place which felt as if nothing had ever grown there since the beginning of time, but it was the one she could remember best. She had a fine voice and the children joined in; it was very cheering. Aunt Andrea and the warlock did not join in.

Towards the end of the hymn Digma felt someone plucking at her elbow. The smell of brandy and cigars and cologne made her decide it must be Aunt Andrea. She was cautiously pulling her away from the others. When they had gone a little distance, the old woman put her mouth so close to Digma's ear that it tickled, and whispered: "Now, my girl. Slip on your ring. Let's be off."

But the warlock had very good ears.

"Fool!" came his voice and he leapt off the horse. "Have you forgotten that I can hear women's thoughts? Let go the girl. If you attempt treachery I will take such vengeance upon you as never was heard of in all worlds from the beginning."

"And," added Digma, "if you think I'm such a swine as to go off and leave Paul - and the cabby - and the horse in a place like this, you're well mistaken."

"You are a very naughty and impertinent little girl," Aunt Andrea said.

"Hush!" said the cabby. They all listened.

In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digma found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes she almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words.

There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise she had ever heard. It was so beautiful she could hardly bear it. The horse seemed to like it too; she gave the sort of whinney a horse would give if, after years of being a cab-horse, it found itself back in the old field where it had played as a foal, and saw someone whom it remembered and loved coming across the field to bring it a lump of sugar.

"Gawd!" said the cabby. "Ain't it lovely?"

Then two wonders happened at the same moment. One was that the voice was suddenly joined by other voices; more voices than you could possibly count. They were in harmony with it, but far higher up the scale: cold, tingling, silvery voices. The second wonder was that the blackness overhead, all at once, was blazing with stars. One moment there had been nothing but darkness; next moment a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out - single stars, constellations, and planets, brighter and bigger than any in our world. There were no clouds. The new stars and the new voices began at exactly the same time.

As Digma saw and heard it, she felt quite certain that it was the stars themselves which were singing, and that it was the first voice, the deep one, which had made them appear and made them sing.

"Glory be!" said the Cabby. "I'd ha' been a better woman all my life if I'd known there were things like this."

The voice on the earth was now louder and more triumphant; but the voices in the sky, after singing loudly with it for a time, began to get fainter. And now something else was happening.

Far away, and down near the horizon, the sky began to turn grey. A breeze began to blow. The sky, in that one place, grew slowly and steadily paler. You could see shapes of hills standing up dark against it. All the time the voice went on singing.

There was soon light enough for them to see one another's faces. The Cabby and the two children had open mouths and shining eyes; they were drinking in the sound, and they looked as if it reminded them of something. Aunt Andrea's mouth was open too, but not from joy. She looked more as if her chin had simply dropped away from the rest of her face. Her shoulders slumped and her knees shook. She did not like the Voice. If she could have got away from it by creeping into a rat's hole, she would have done so.

But the warlock looked as if, in a way, he understood the music better than any of them. His mouth was shut, his lips were pressed together, and his fists were clenched. Ever since the song began he had felt that this whole world was filled with a magic different from his and stronger. He hated it. He would have smashed that whole world, or all worlds, to pieces, if it would only stop the singing.

The horse stood with its ears well forward, and twitching. Every now and then she snorted and stamped the ground. She no longer looked like a tired old cab-horse; you could now well believe that her father had been in battles.

The eastern sky changed from white to pink and from pink to gold. The voice rose and rose, till all the air was shaking with it. And just as it swelled to the mightiest and most glorious sound it had yet produced, the sun arose.

Digma had never seen such a sun. The sun above the ruins of Sharn had looked older than ours: this looked younger. You could imagine that it laughed for joy as it came up. And as its beams shot across the land the travellers could see for the first time what sort of place they were in.

It was a valley through which a broad, swift river wound its way, flowing eastward towards the sun. Southward there were mountains, northward there were lower hills. But it was a valley of mere earth, rock and water; there was not a tree, not a bush, not a blade of grass to be seen. The earth was of many colours: they were fresh, hot and vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the singer herself, and then you forgot everything else.

It was a lioness. Huge, shaggy, and bright, she stood facing the risen sun. Her mouth was wide open in song and she was about three hundred yards away.

"This is a horriible world," said the warlock. "We must fly at once. Prepare the magic."

"I quite agree with you, Sir," said Aunt Andrea. "A most disagreeable place. Completely uncivilized. If only I were a younger woman and had a gun -"

"Garn!" said the Cabby. "You don't think you could shoot 'er, do you?"

"And who would?" asked Paul.

"Prepare the magic, old fool," said Jadis.

"Certainly, Sir," said Aunt Andrea cunningly. "I must have both the children touching me. Put on your homeward ring at once, Digma." She wanted to get away without the warlock.

"Oh, it's done by rings, is it?" cried Jador.

He would have had his hands in Digma's pocket before you could say shazam, but Digma grabbed Paul and shouted out, "Take care. If either of you come half an inch nearer, we two will vanish and you'll be left here for good. Yes: I have a ring in my pocket that will take Paul and me home. And my hand is ready. So keep back. I'm sorry about you and about the horse, (she looked at the cabby) but I can't help that. As for you two (she looked at Aunt Andrea and the king), you're both sorcerors, so you ought to enjoy living together here."

"'Old your noise, everyone," said the cabby. "I want to listen to the moosic."

For the song had now changed.


End file.
